Fallen
by Alexa Johnson
Summary: Hate binds us by trapping us too tightly to our adversary."--Milan Kundera. It began as a mistake. A DracoHermione story in five parts. Now complete.
1. Chapter 1

**Summary: **"Hate traps us by binding us too tightly to our adversary" (Milan Kundera). It began as a mistake. Dramione. DH compliant, EWE.

**Author's Note: **I wrote this for the "shine a light" round of eljay's dmhgficexchange and is complete, though I will post each part every two weeks or so for the sake of reviews. This story has incredibly sensitive topics, and while I've done necessary medical research, I plead artistic license and/or ignorance for any inaccuracies. Huge thank yous to my amazing beta marmalade_fever and to anglicwitch for being a wonderful sounding board, and to my wonderful flist for their encouragement—this is without a doubt the most difficult story I've written thus far, and I couldn't have done it without all of you! I hope everyone who reads will enjoy, and I would of course love reviews!

**Disclaimer: **I am not J.K. Rowling, and therefore do not own Harry Potter—I just enjoy playing in her marvelous sandbox!

* * *

**FALLEN**

"_**Hate traps us by binding us too tightly to our adversary." –**__Milan Kundera_

_

* * *

__Prologue_

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* * *

  
_

Hermione Granger had never wanted to be ordinary, even when she'd been a girl.

She'd wanted to do things—big things—and when she'd gotten her Hogwarts letter, she'd felt being a witch would help her accomplish them.

Then the War had happened, and she'd put her life on hold, thankful to just be alive at the end of every day. Afterwards there had been funerals and trials that seemed to go on forever, and although the Ministry had an awards ceremony, nobody felt much like celebrating. Because the War had prevented them from finishing out the year and taking exams, the Ministry had considered it an extenuating circumstance of sorts since things like that had ceased to matter, and it was decided that those involved be judged upon other qualifications when applying for jobs.

She'd felt as though her life was finally back on track, and she allowed herself to dream again.

But no dream of hers had ever led her here.

Her destination loomed in front of her, but now that she'd arrived, the doubts that she'd brutally forced away started trickling back into her mind. She had been so sure that she'd been doing the right thing—that there was nothing else she _could _do—but now it just felt so _wrong_.

She'd tried to convince herself that everything would go back to the way it was, that she could simply forget this whole thing had ever happened, that no one would have to end up hurt.

When put into perspective, this was the easy way.

But that didn't make it _right, _and she knew that if she went through with this that it would haunt her for the rest of her life. She would accept the consequences of her actions and not reward herself for a bad decision she'd made.

Before she could give in to weakness, she turned around sharply and walked away with a heavy heart, knowing that nothing would ever be the same again.

* * *

**Part I**

**

* * *

**After the War, all Draco Malfoy had wanted to do was disappear.

His age had protected him even as all of Wizarding England wanted the Malfoys to suffer, but he'd had to watch as his father was sentenced to life in Azkaban in darkened isolation and his mother, spared the same fate after Harry Potter testified that she'd saved his life, was put on seven years of magical probation for her silence and association with known Death Eaters, not the least of which being the Dark Lord himself.

All he'd needed was to be out for a handful of minutes in Diagon Alley before people would spit and shout names at him on the street, and he'd been so ready to run away from it all. If it weren't for the untimely arrival of his conscience and one Pansy Parkinson, he probably would have.

He still remembered that night as though it had happened yesterday.

_Since the Ministry had seized the Manor and claimed most of the Malfoy fortune for reparations, they'd found a small affordable flat in Muggle London so they wouldn't be easily recognized. He checked in on his mother, had lingered in her doorway awhile, head bowed. "_I'm sorry, mother_," he whispered, feeling like the biggest coward alive, "_but I just can't do this anymore. It's too hard. One day, maybe, you'll understand_."_

_Pulling himself away, he moved silently down the stairs, took a deep breath, and had just been about to open the door when a few sharp knocks sounded on the other side. There was absolutely no way he'd be able to avoid whoever this was, and there was only one person who would dare visit him right now._

"Bloody hell_," he muttered, angrily opening the door. "_What the fuck do you want, Pansy_?"_

_She sniffed, looking affronted. "_I was going to apologize for not having been able to come sooner, but after that warm greeting I don't think I will. I'd come to check up on you, actually, to see how you were holding up. Are you_?"_

"Yes_," he said stiffly, but Pansy was not as stupid as she liked to act, and he knew it wouldn't take her long to tell that something was up._

_As it was, all she had to do was study him for a moment before recognition shone in her eyes. "_You're leaving, aren't you_?"_

_He stood there defiantly, refusing to answer her, but his rebellious silence was enough. "_Shit, Draco_," she said, sticking an accusatory finger at his chest, "_how could you? What does your mother have to say about all this_?"_

_He pursed his lips and folded his arms across his chest, daring her to judge him._

_She shook her head in disbelief. "_Merlin, Draco. Of all the cowardly things you've done, this has got to be the icing on the cake_."_

"Will you just shut the fuck up_?" he finally snarled at her, and probably would've pushed her had she not been a girl. "_Do you have any idea what it's been like for me? I can't show my face in public anymore, my mother is falling apart like the family she tried to hold together and can't do anything without magic, and we're poor as dirt. Poorer, even, as far as I'm concerned. If I can't get a job, we're not even going to be able to afford _this_ shit hole_."_

"Oh, boo-fucking-hoo_," Pansy snapped back, unsympathetic. "_In case it escaped your notice, Draco, you're the man of this house now—when are you going to start acting like it? If you always run from your problems, you're never going to learn how to deal with them_."_

"Oh, really? And you would know this because of all your expertise at dealing with problems_?" he threw back at her, knowing he was being unfair but too frustrated to care._

_She sighed, her face softening. _"It hasn't been easy for us either, you know, even though we played both sides and they couldn't really pin anything on us. Simply being Slytherin is enough. But how can you leave your mother when she needs you now more than she probably ever has? All this will pass, soon, although it will likely get worse before it gets better_."_

_He raked a hand through his hair, now feeling pretty wretched. "_I'm...I'm not..._" But he couldn't bring himself to admit any sort of weakness, even now, and he felt resentment burn through him as he thought of the man responsible for their situation. "_All this is father's fault. He was the one who was supposed to protect us, but ever since the Dark Lord came back all he brought us was danger and a name that means nothing. Mother refuses to see this, or if she does she won't acknowledge it, and she's not making things any better_."_

"He thought he was doing the right thing..._" Pansy began, but Draco cut her off before she could continue._

"He was only thinking about himself, and I wonder if he even cared about us at all_." Although he would never tell her, he would find later that he was grateful Pansy had come that night, because he knew he would have regretted leaving the rest of his life. He could swallow his pride this once, even if the taste were bitter. "_I'm glad he's rotting in Azkaban_," he went on fiercely, "_it's what he deserves for deserting us for some pathetic Mudblood Dark Lord. I will stay, not just for mother, but to make the Malfoy name mean something again. We shouldn't have to hide like Squibs, ashamed to even step out in the street_."_

_Pansy smiled thinly. "_Now that's more like it_."_

Even though not even a year had passed, things hadn't really changed much.

The fact that he looked like a clone of his father didn't help, and there were times he had to change his hair color and do other small things to alter his appearance so he wouldn't be easily recognized if he had to run errands in Wizarding London. He had managed to get a job at the Ministry, but he had been told up front it was only because it was their only real way to punish him they could keep an eye on him, and he spent his days behind a desk as part of the Muggle fucking Excuse Committee. He should've known that any job they would've given him would be something like that, but that still hadn't stopped him from dropping his jaw.

Now that the War cleanup was basically done, it was actually pretty boring, and he spent most of the time trying to amuse himself.

Today he was making paper airplanes and charming them to zoom around the room.

Someone then decided to choose this moment to knock on his door, and as he lazily called, "Come in," he watched with mild interest as his latest plane flew right into the nose of the Minister of Magic.

Arthur Weasley picked up the plane with a strained smile on his face. "Busy day, Mr. Malfoy?"

Draco struggled to sit up a little straighter, but couldn't find it in him to even feign embarrassment. He shrugged. "You could say that."

_It would be if I had a real fucking job._

He chose to keep that thought to himself, and considered it a wise move.

The Minister looked apologetic. "I make it a point to personally visit all new employees, and I've been a bit tied up lately so I'm sorry it's taken me so long to get to you."

Draco was pretty sure he wasn't sorry, but he also decided to leave that opinion in his mind.

"I hope you've been settling in with no trouble..."

A sharp ringing filled the small room then, and Draco rolled his eyes. Since Wizards had recognized the benefits of mobiles, a Wizarding model had been made that was charmed to work everywhere, and Draco had gotten one for himself and for his mother, who was the only person who really called him aside from Pansy.

"I have to take this—it won't be long..."

Mr. Weasley just nodded and adopted an air of indifference as Draco picked up, already irritated. "What's the matter this time, mother?"

"I don't know, but I think the smoke must've set off the smoke detectors..." she sounded distraught, and as Draco listened, he could make out a faint beeping noise in the background.

_Smoke?_

He sighed and rubbed his temples. "Well I can't come home right now...can it wait?"

"I really don't think..." and there was a beat of silence as she reconsidered, and released a sigh of her own. "If you can't get home, I suppose I can figure out how to get them to stop."

"Good. Bye, mother." After he'd hung up, he let his head linger in his hands for a second before lifting it to face the Minister, who wasn't bothering to hide his curiosity now.

"How is your mother these days?"

Malfoys and Weasleys never made small talk unless they were trading insults, and this was going to take some getting used to. If he wanted to continue to improve his image, he supposed this was part of the sacrifice, but that didn't mean he had to be verbose about it.

"Fine."

Mr. Weasley was starting to look a little uncomfortable now, and if Draco weren't so masterful at hiding his emotions, he would've been smirking. "Well if there's anything you need..."

Draco was sure there wouldn't be, at least not from Mr. Weasley, but he nodded anyway and even threw in a _thank you._

It wasn't until he was alone again that he let his mask slip just a little bit as he put his head in his hands, wondering when all this was going to change or if he'd be doomed to atone for the sins of his family for the rest of his life.

When Draco walked into the small flat he shared with his mother, he was greeted by the persistent beeping of the smoke detector and a frantic Narcissa. "I've been trying to turn it off, really I have, but I can't figure out how..."

Draco rubbed his temples with a groan, feeling a headache coming on. After another tediously boring day at work, this was the last thing he needed. He took out his wand and muttered a _Silencio. _"I'll deal with it later. Right now I just want a nap."

His mother tugged on her hair, something she did only when she was especially upset. "What about dinner?"

Usually he cared enough to try to placate her, but now he simply didn't have the energy. "Just order some pizza, the number's on a magnet on the refrigerator," he said over his shoulder as he walked up the narrow staircase to his room.

Collapsing on the bed in the center of the small room, Draco rubbed a tired hand over his face. He always had all this anger living bottled up inside him, and it was exhausting hiding it from everyone. Even snapping at his mother made him feel guilty when he knew how much she was fraying at the edges, and he avoided her by hiding in his room so he wouldn't say something he'd end up regretting later. If he blew up at work, he would be sacked in a heartbeat. Pansy would listen to him if he wanted to talk, but he'd never felt comfortable discussing his emotions and other things he'd always considered weaknesses.

It was the way he'd been raised, after all.

He sighed heavily and rolled onto his stomach, pushing his face into the pillow. The truth of the matter was that he really didn't think he could deal with this, and his mother wasn't helping. If only she weren't so damned loyal to father still, maybe it would be easier for them to move out of the past, but she refused to let go, as though holding their family together in her mind was all she had left.

Her newfound interest in learning to cook, even though it posed certain risks to the house, seemed to be helping her, but Draco saw it for what it was. She was still too proud to get a job that involved anything Muggle, and it irked Draco that, were it not for the lack of her wand, she probably would have been given a more respectable position in the Ministry of Magic than he had.

Making just enough to afford their flat and food, they'd abandoned all the comforts they'd been used to, but when he thought of father in Azkaban this didn't seem too bad, even if they'd been forced in to a prison of their own.

"Draco! The pizza's here!"

So much for sleeping.

Pushing himself up with a groan, he headed downstairs. He wasn't even that hungry, but he would make the effort for his mother. Grabbing a piece from the box on the kitchen counter, he went to join her at the table, but he was just going through the motions. He did that a lot these days.

"If only your father were here," his mother murmured, chin resting on her hands, eyes distant. "Things would be better."

If they hadn't recycled this discussion time and time again, Draco would have probably been able to stay calm, but they'd gone over this so often that that sentence alone was enough to make him see red.

"Look around you, mother!" Draco said, wondering how much more he'd have to continue saying this for it to sink in. "He's the reason we have to live like this now! We've lost everything, and yet you're still determined to be loyal to the man who brought us down with him!"

Narcissa's eyes were cold as ice, and she was trembling with anger. "No matter what he's done, that _man _is your father, and you at least owe him your respect."

Draco sneered. "If our places were reversed, do you think he'd want to sully himself with our dirt? He would have severed all ties with us to prevent himself from falling down too. Malfoys are only loyal when it helps themselves, and the fact that we're family wouldn't have made the slightest bit of difference."

"Is that really what you think?" Narcissa demanded, her expression a strange combination of horrified sadness. "He loved you in his own way, just as he loved me."

"Don't fool yourself, mother," Draco snapped, now weary of the argument. "He loved the Dark Lord more than anyone, except maybe for himself."

He didn't see the slap coming until her hand backhanded him harshly across the face. Too surprised to even make a sound, he lifted numb fingers to his burning cheek, glaring at his mother with a mixture of resentment and pain.

When she spoke, her voice was low and dangerous. "I don't want to hear you say anything like that _ever _again. Do you understand me?"

Unable to bring himself to say anything for the moment, he intensified his glare instead, hating himself for starting this fight and resenting his mother for refusing to see things as they really were.

His mother was not about to take silence for an answer, although there was a tinge of regret in her eyes. "I said, do you understand me?"

Clenching his fists, he ground out through bared teeth, "Perfectly."

He stalked back to his room, half-eaten pizza lying forgotton on the table, leaving his mother leaning back in her chair with a distant expression.

_Things can't get much worse than this, _Draco fumed inwardly as he slammed his door behinid him. _Surely they have to start getting better now._

_

* * *

_It was another quiet day in the library, but Hermione Granger liked it that way.

When the War ended she probably could've gotten just about any position she wanted, but after all of the stress and the pain and the sacrifice, she'd wanted some time for herself. Now that she had her life ahead of her, she'd decided she had plenty of time to accomplish everything she'd ever dreamed of, so when she saw that the library in her neighborhood was hiring, she had jumped on the opportunity to find herself again in the place she loved most.

She'd feared her soul would never be the same after all she'd had to give and lost, but within the serenity of the library and the comfort of the books she now had time to read again, she had slowly been healing.

And then she'd had to go ruin everything.

"Hello, Hermione."

Wallowing momentarily put on hold, her head snapped up and her entire body went rigid as the last person she wanted to see strode through the front doors. Well, maybe not _exactly_ the last person—there were a lot of people she didn't want to see right now, but Harry Potter was certainly at the top of the list.

She wasn't going to let him trap her, though, not in her territory. "Harry."

Acknowledging his presence was the most she was going to give him, and she thought that in itself was generous, considering the way this conversation was going to end up.

He eyed the closed book beneath her arms as he fidgeted with the sleeves of his shirt, an anxious gesture that showed he was slightly uncertain as to how to proceed now that he was here in front of her. "What are you reading?"

Hermione bit her lip to force the noise of irritation back. No matter how many pleasantries he tried to disguise his motives with, she knew why he was here, and the sooner they got to the inevitable, the sooner he would leave. "We both know why you're here Harry, and it's not for social reasons. Please don't insult my intelligence by beating around the bush."

His eyes flashed, and if she hadn't been prepared, she would've flinched at the intensity of the sudden anger she'd seen. "If you're so _intelligent, _Hermione, why did you let this happen? How _could _you?"

She bristled, feeling defensive in spite of her earlier resolution not to. "So you're just going to attack me without even asking for my side first?"

The glare had settled permanently into his expression now. "I'm pretty sure I've already heard it."

That was the last straw—the rage that had been building inside her flared to life, and she drew it around her for support. "Then why did you even bother coming here?"

"Because, even though I knew Ron wouldn't lie about something like that, a part of me wasn't willing to accept it." Harry's face hardened as he continued, "But now that I've seen you, I know it's true. Merlin, Hermione, why are you doing this? You know it's still not too late to—"

She rose so quickly that she almost knocked her chair over, effectively cutting him off. "I've already confronted that choice Harry, and if you really knew me you wouldn't have to ask me why I couldn't go through with it."

He shook his head, deflating a little. "I just…don't get it, Hermione, and I'm not sure any amount of explaining on your part is ever going to make me understand why."

Sighing heavily, she sat back down, and pinched the bridge of her nose. "Even though I know it's not going to change anything, I _am_ sorry, Harry, but it's just not in me to run from the consequences of my actions. I understand if you don't want to see or talk to me again, and I won't hold anything against you—if I were you I'm not sure I'd want to have anything to do with me either."

"Does he know?"

The question caught her slightly off guard. She considered not answering and telling him to leave, but if this were the last time she'd speak with him, she really didn't want to put any more water under the bridge than there already was. "No."

"I think you should let him know."

Unable to help herself, she gaped at him. That had been the last thing she'd expected him to say, and for a moment she was at a loss for words.

Taking advantage of her surprised silence, he continued, "Even if he won't like it, he has a right to know." There was a pregnant pause, and then he went on, "If I were him, I would."

Hermione was really at a loss now. Finally she said, "Why are you telling me this, Harry?"

He gave her a sad half-smile. "We've been through a lot, Hermione. I'm mad as hell at you, and things will never be the way they were, but there will be a part of me that will always care for you, and you shouldn't have to go through something like this alone."

But she _was_ alone now, wasn't she?

Even her own parents weren't willing to trust her after what she'd done to them.

Fighting back the sudden lump that had lodged itself in her throat, she said resolutely, "Just because I've ruined my life doesn't give me the right to ruin his."

Harry exhaled heavily. "Well, think about it, all right?"

She nodded, not trusting herself with words at the moment.

Glancing at his watch, Harry said, "I'd better get home for dinner before Ginny starts wondering where I am. Take care of yourself, Hermione."

"You too, Harry," she said softly, resolved not to cry even after he'd gone.

_No self-pity, _she scolded herself mentally, _this is all your own doing._

That thought didn't make this any easier, though—if anything, it made the whole situation harder, and Hermione placed her hand on her slightly rounder stomach with a weary sigh.

Why had she done it?

Even now she didn't really have a clear answer, except that at the time she'd just really wanted to feel alive again. It had taken everyone awhile to find themselves after the War, but the hardest thing for Hermione had been the strained relationship between her parents, and it hadn't improved much.

They'd understood that she'd been protecting them, but they'd made it very clear that they hadn't approved of her methods, saying that even war hadn't given her the right to take their memories away from them.

She'd naïvely expected a happy reunion, but after they'd hugged her it had all gone downhill. Remembering that argument and all the ones that had followed still left her feeling depressed and wondering if her parents would ever be able to trust her with anything ever again.

And then there had been Ron.

After the passionate kiss they'd shared she'd thought that they'd finally be able to get their acts together, and she could've used that ray of happiness during the trials of the funerals and all the other hardships that came with the end of a war.

They had only talked about the chances for a relationship once, and while it hadn't damaged their friendship, an air of tension had lingered until the night that everything had gone to hell in a hand basket.

_It had been a week since Fred's funeral, and somehow they'd managed to find a private moment underneath a tree in the Weasley's backyard._

"I just don't understand why this has to be so difficult." _She'd lost track of how they'd found a way to this topic, but now that they had she wasn't about to back down._

_Ron sighed, looking down at his toes instead of up at her. _"It's not that I don't want to be with you Hermione, I do, but well, my family needs me and…I honestly don't know if I could handle a relationship too_."_

_She was glad he didn't see the hurt that flashed across her face. Squaring her shoulders, she said, "_I know you're going through a difficult time—we all are. But I think we could use some happiness to help us through this, don't you?_"_

_He stuffed his hands in his pockets, and when he finally glanced over at her, there was a helpless look in his eyes. "_I—I don't know, Hermione."

_As much as they were attracted to each other, there was always some reason why Ron couldn't be with her. If he'd wanted to make her jealous with the whole Lavender show it had worked, but he'd stayed with her so long that Hermione wondered if he'd forgotten his initial intentions and had gotten lost in his own charade. _

_Then Harry had needed them, they'd gone off Horcrux hunting, and the War had ended although it didn't really feel as though it had yet. To Hermione, it felt as though she'd been waiting for Ron awhile now, and while she understood the circumstances that had kept them apart, she wasn't willing to wait much longer._

_She wrapped her arms tightly around herself. "_But—that kiss—didn't it mean anything to you?"

"Of course it did, Hermione," _Ron said quickly, looking a little abashed. "_It's not that I don't want to be with you, I do, but I just…can't right now."

_Exhaling heavily, she whispered, _"I'm not trying to force anything, and I do understand, Ron. Just don't expect me to wait forever."

They had kept their physical distance from each other after that, and just when it had seemed as though that ship had sailed, he had found the most inopportune time to bring them up again.

And now, here she was.

She put her head into her hands, moaning softly. Robert Frost had had it easy, she decided glumly. There were definitely more than two paths diverging in _her _yellow wood.

"You okay there, Granger? You look a little ill."

Hermione didn't have to glance up to identify the owner of _that _voice, and she resisted the urge to groan. She must've been really out of it if she hadn't even been aware of his approach, and she mentally cursed the ill luck that had infected her day. All she needed now was to see Ron later to make it complete. "It's only a result of the thought of having to see your face, Malfoy. Now what the hell do you want?"

Malfoy smirked down at her. "What crawled up your arse and died, Granger? If you were trying to insult me, you should be intelligent enough to know that you can't burn someone with cold water. I'm actually here to check out some books. Isn't that what one generally _does_ want to do in a library?"

She really wasn't in the right frame of mind for a sparring match with anyone right now, especially Malfoy. Unwilling to waste any more words on him, she settled for a stony glare, but her curiosity got the better of her as soon as she reached for the first book. "A _cook_book, Malfoy?"

His eyes iced over completely. Apparently she'd treaded on testy waters, and she had to admit that knowledge did give her a small amount of smug satisfaction.

"Fuck you, Granger," he growled, but instead of feeling intimidated, all she wanted to do was laugh.

"Oh I see," she said, rolling her eyes. "You can mock me, but you're off limits?"

"If you know what's good for you," he said threateningly, but she just shrugged her shoulders.

She scanned the rest of his books quickly, ready for him to leave. "You don't scare me, Malfoy, and this act of yours doesn't fool me either. Most people might not be able to see through it, but all it hides is a coward, and it's pretty hard to be afraid of _that_."

His anger was palpable by this point. "You have no idea what the fuck you're talking about."

She raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Clearly I've hit _some_ kind of nerve—why else would you be this mad?"

They'd now reached a strange sort of stalemate: he couldn't contradict her unless he had some explanation, because he knew that she would keep goading him until he gave one. She highly doubted that he would be willing to offer up anything believable, and that left him with really only one option.

His lips twisted into something ugly. "The problem with you Gryffindors is that you love passing judgment on other people and then get so indignant when you receive the same treatment. I think you're a self-righteous bitch, and I don't owe you anything."

Grabbing his books, he stormed out of the library without giving her the chance to respond, but her victory didn't give her much pleasure, and it wasn't because of the insult.

_You _do _owe me Malfoy. You owe me more than you could even begin to guess._

But now, though, she knew what she had to do.

Even if he wasn't going to like it—hell, she didn't like it either—she figured that she owed him too. Setting her jaw, she found some paper and a pen and began to write.

* * *

**to be continued**


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: **In honor of the New Year, here is part two, a short-ish transition chapter to much angstier stuff! Enjoy, and feedback of all kinds would be most appreciated! Many thanks to everyone who has reviewed thus far!

* * *

**Part II**

* * *

Draco's encounter with Granger had gotten under his skin more than he would be willing to admit to anyone, and he was in such a foul mood when he got home that he couldn't even hide it from his mother.

As soon as he brutally slammed the front door shut, she was calling down to him. "Are you all right, darling?"

He dropped the books heavily on the kitchen counter and stalked up to his room. "Couldn't you have chosen a different hobby, mother?"

Narcissa's head appeared in her doorway, her expression one of confusion rather than concern. "What does my cooking have to do with anything?"

"Nothing. Everything," he growled, thinking that if Granger hadn't seen those bloody cookbooks, she would've kept her nosy mouth shut. His mother was staring at him, but he'd had enough of talking for the moment. "Never mind, Mother. I've had a long day. Just leave me alone, okay?"

Proceeding down the small, narrow hallway to his own room, he closed the door behind him before she had the chance to respond. He really _didn't _like being so rude to his mother, but he was tired of explaining himself to people and tired of people who felt he _owed _them an explanation.

"Fuck you, Granger," he muttered to himself as he stretched out on his bed.

Just who did the stupid bitch think she was, anyway?

The truth of the matter was that he just wasn't used to people saying things like that to him. He stayed in his office as much as he could during the day and only ventured into Wizarding London when necessary. In spite of his intentions to ameliorate the Malfoy name, he knew the majority of the public thought he didn't deserve the chance, and he was still amazed he'd been able to make it out of the trials without getting Avada'd by some insane Wizard with an unhealthy thirst for vengeance.

He understood Snape's violent reaction to Potter's calling him a coward a little better now, and he clenched his fists as his blood began to boil when he thought of Granger's accusing words.

A sharp tapping at his window startled him out of his thoughts, and he spun around to face the glass, staring at the owl that was hovering outside it. Unless it was someone sending him hate mail—something they'd gotten a lot of in the weeks following the trials—he had no idea what anyone would want with him. If Pansy needed him, she would call him until he picked up or would show up uninvited, and she was really the only one who voluntarily wanted any contact with him.

The owl's tapping was becoming more insistent, and Draco stalked over to the window and yanked it open with a growl, taking the letter from the bird's leg as it rested on the windowsill.

Opening the folded piece of paper, he read:

_Malfoy,_

_You're probably wondering what I could possibly have to tell you that is so important it required a letter, but as much as I hate the idea, this is something I have to talk to you about in person. No matter how you feel now, I ask that you reserve your final decision until after you've heard what I have to say, at which point you can do anything you like. If you can, please meet me outside the library at closing time tomorrow. You need only respond to this letter if this will be a problem._

_Yours,_

_Hermione_

Draco had to read the letter several times to make sure he wasn't hallucinating, and several more times after that to try to decipher it. What _could_ she possibly want that was so important? He honestly had no idea, and it was driving him crazy.

For that reason alone, he knew he wouldn't be able to ignore her request, and that irritated him as much as his inability to recall what could have prompted such a letter. This was _Granger_. They interacted only out of necessity, and her position at the library meant that he saw her more than he desired. Occasionally he saw her walking in the neighborhood if he were out doing some errand for his mother, but then they usually pretended the other didn't exist, which was how he preferred it.

The bitch knew he wouldn't be able to refuse her after writing such a vague letter, and he uttered a string of curses as he tore the paper up into tiny pieces.

The owl hooted questioningly, and Draco glowered at it fiercely. "What the fuck do _you_ want? I'm meeting her, all right? You're not getting any food out of me, so you might as well leave before I do something violent."

He could've sworn that the bird glowered back at him before it flew away with an indignant hoot.

He really _did _want to do something violent though, and magic wasn't going to satisfy the impulse. Looking around the room for something to throw, his gaze fell on the clock that sat on the table by his bed. Picking it up, he threw it violently against the wall, and it fell to the floor with a crash.

Wincing slightly at the noise, he started counting down from ten and was at six before he heard heavy footsteps and banging at his door, followed by his mother's voice. "Draco! What in Merlin's name are you _doing_ in there?"

He shrugged before he realized she couldn't see it. "I'm fine, Mother… I just needed to throw something."

It was hard not to imagine the frown on her face as she said dubiously, "Are you sure, darling?"

He rolled his eyes, glad there was a closed door between them. "_Yes, _Mother."

"Okay," she said, although he could tell she was still unconvinced. "Dinner will be ready in a few minutes, so you should come down soon."

He loved his mother, and he understood her intense protectiveness, but sometimes it _was _a little cloying. He might be bitter, angry, and cynical, but he wasn't fragile, and he could look after himself.

Sitting on the edge of his bed with a sigh, he gazed distantly at the scattered pieces of paper around his feet, something that was probably the last thing he needed right now.

_Damnit, Granger, _he swore to himself, _this had better be good._

* * *

The next evening, he arrived at the library just as Granger stepped outside.

Crossing his arms over his chest, he snarled, "Now just what the fuck is this all about?"

She gazed coldly back at him, her posture rigid, with her hands clasped behind her back. "I had every intention of keeping this to myself, but after a previous conversation and your assertion that you don't owe me anything, I thought harder about it and decided you _do_ have a right to know, as much as I wish you didn't. As you can obviously see, I'm pregnant."

He snorted. "How is what Weasel does with you any of my concern?"

Taking a deep breath, she said, "Malfoy… this baby… is _our _baby."

There was a heavy beat of silence as her words slowly registered. Too shocked to feel much of any one emotion, he finally said slowly, "You have _got _to be kidding me. I'm sure you and Weasel…."

She shook her head. "We've never slept together, Malfoy. We've never even officially _been_ together. There's only one night that this could have happened."

Suddenly he wished he were sitting down. "You mean that night we…."

She almost looked apologetic. "You were pretty drunk, and I didn't know how much you remembered…. I was inebriated enough to not have been thinking clearly, but I remember everything."

Scowling, he accused, "Well, what made you suddenly decide to tell me? You've obviously been pregnant for a couple months now."

She pursed her lips. "Because I had every intention of getting an abortion. But once I was there… I just couldn't go through with it."

Sneering, he said, "I sure hope this isn't the part where you profess your undying love to me."

Her eyes were hard as granite. "If I recall, _you _were the one who said it looked as though I could use a good kiss."

"My father had just been sentenced to life in prison," he said harshly, expression dark. "You were the one who invaded my personal space at the pub that night to start accusing me of certain crimes you felt _I_ should have been convicted of too. You were getting on my nerves, and you wouldn't shut up."

She stared at him. "So you're saying you really kissed me because you wanted to _silence _me? You could've just slapped me or something."

He stiffened. "You can think whatever you want about me, Granger, but I don't hit women."

She scoffed. "I find _that_ hard to believe."

"I do have _some _principles," he said with a smirk.

Lifting an eyebrow, she answered, "I'm astonished that word is even in your vocabulary." Sighing, she continued wearily, "Look, I didn't want to come here to pick a fight. I guess you could say my innate maternal instincts kicked in, that I didn't want to punish my unborn child for my mistakes. None of this has changed my feelings for you—if anything I hate you more.

"I don't know why I continued to have sex with you that night… maybe it was because I was being childish and wanted to hurt Ron for his inaction or because it was so wonderful to feel something that wasn't anger or bitterness, even if it was because of something you were doing. But you have as much of a right to know as I do, and it wasn't my place to hide this from you. What you want to do now is up to you, and I won't begrudge you any more than I already do."

He opened his mouth to respond but shut it again when he realized he didn't really know what he was going to say.

Finally, he managed, "So I could walk away. Right now."

She gave him a small smile, strained and sad. "I wouldn't stop you."

_All it hides is a coward..._

Her earlier words came back, unbidden, and he clenched his jaw reflexively. He certainly hadn't counted on anything like this, and the thought of being—that he was a father was hard to wrap his mind around.

And with _Granger_.

Merlin.

Why was he even still _standing _here?

_She wouldn't be expecting you to help out, _his mind suggested. _In fact, she's probably hoping you run away so she doesn't have to deal with you but can then call you cowardly whenever she sees you, which is more often than not these days. But once it leaks out that you're with her, your image will most likely benefit from it._

He considered that for a moment.

He was going to be miserable, but he could make her life a living hell.

The possibilities were endless.

He smirked evilly. "When can I take you out?"

**

* * *

**

It had been the most painful first date of her life.

Conversation had consisted only of small talk, but because they'd both known it was only covering the deeper, more serious issues they were searching to avoid, it was strained and forced.

She hadn't been counting on this, though.

While telling him had, after having told Ron, been one of the most unpleasant things she'd ever had to do, she'd comforted herself with the knowledge that he'd probably want less to do with her than he already did, and that had somehow made it bearable.

But then, with that one statement, he'd turned her world even more upside down than it already was. At that point, she couldn't have said _just kidding _and taken the words back, but it had taken her a minute or two to find her voice again.

And now, here they were a week later at a casual restaurant in their neighborhood, having a hard time even with the pleasantries.

At least he'd agreed to stay out of the Wizarding world for a bit to avoid running into anyone they didn't want to see—which, between the two of them, was a considerable amount of people—but that didn't make this any easier.

If she'd been able to foresee his decision, would she have told him anyway?

While it would have certainly made it more difficult, she liked to think she would have. But what was done was done, and she was only making it harder to move forward by staying caught up in the past.

_It would be a little easier if he weren't so damn hard to read, _she thought, scowling to herself.

But Draco Malfoy was a master at impassivity, and even though she considered herself to be pretty accurate when it came to reading people, his face was practically impossible for her to decipher unless he was visibly angry. She sensed he was making her uncomfortable on purpose, and the fact that he was succeeding irked her even more.

Honestly, she hated everything about this situation, but she hated herself even more for winding up here.

"Well, I guess I'm done now," he said, smirking at her from across the table. She'd finished twenty minutes ago, but he'd taken his good old time, indifferent as ever even as she bored an icy glare into his forehead. "Do you want any pudding?"

"No." She scowled back at him. "I'm full."

He grinned devilishly, flagging down their waiter. "I'd like a slice of Tiramisu, please."

The waiter nodded and walked away, and she was convinced more than ever that he was dragging this out on purpose, delighting in her vexation in spite of his own.

She glowered at him. "How could you possibly be able to eat any more after that huge entrée?"

He leaned back in his chair, and she wished she could wipe that smug smirk off his face. "I've been told I have a voracious appetite."

"Is that so," she remarked, dryly.

"You wound me, Granger," he said, words oozing sarcasm. "Why would I ever want to lie about my appetite?"

She lifted a skeptical eyebrow. "Oh, some good reasons come to mind."

The waiter interrupted them with Malfoy's cake, and he thanked him politely, always the perfect gentleman when he wanted to be. "Mmmm," he said, taking a small bite of the generous slice. "This is delicious, Granger. You sure you don't want your own?"

What she really wanted was to shove the cake down his throat, but as that would unfortunately be inappropriate in their current surroundings, she intensified her glare instead. "Apparently my appetite's not as voracious as yours."

"Suit yourself," he said with a shrug, proceeding to eat even slower than he had been before.

It took every ounce of self-control she had to maintain a neutral expression instead of looking like she was going to throttle him, but as she sat there, an idea of her own starting forming in her mind.

She hadn't really given much thought to her dress and had chosen a pair of khakis, a simple black, conservative shirt, and matching black pumps. But if he wanted to play this game, she should treat her wardrobe like an arsenal and use her womanly wiles to her advantage. Under no false impressions about her looks, she had always considered herself to be fairly average. Even though the Yule Ball had given her more confidence in her appearance, it had taken a considerable amount of preparation until she'd looked like that, and since time was always so precious to her, primping usually fell to the bottom of the list or disappeared altogether.

In spite of their mutually acknowledged hate, she _was _a woman, and there was a considerable amount of power in that. She was pregnant, yes, but she was only showing a little right now, and she'd always considered her figure to be one of her greatest physical assets.

She knew how to be tasteful without being degrading, and with the right outfit, she was sure she could make even Draco Malfoy forget who she was.

Her lips twitched into a smirk. He may have won this round, but the woman practically _always_ won the war.

Malfoy was studying her, an inquisitive expression on his face. "If I didn't know better, Granger, I'd say you were plotting."

She flashed him a saccharine smile. "Maybe, maybe not."

He didn't look concerned. "If you think you're scaring me, I would stop while you're still ahead. From past experience, Gryffindors don't plot. They charge."

She maintained the sweet expression. "Newsflash, Malfoy—we're not at Hogwarts anymore. I'd suggest you keep that in mind." She paused, then said, "On second thought—I think I'd like a piece of Tiramisu after all."

He eyed her thoughtfully, but continued to eat in silence.

She held her ground and eyed him right back, daring him to question her.

If he wanted to make her life as miserable as possible during this ordeal, that was fine with her. But he was soon going to understand that she wouldn't hesitate to do the same.

**

* * *

**

A week later, Draco found himself in front of Granger's flat to pick up her for their second date.

He glanced at his watch, wincing. In spite of the reasons he'd laid out in his mind, he'd been wondering what the hell he was going through all this for every day, and had been questioning his very sanity.

That was also why he was now twenty minutes late, no closer to an answer.

Was his life really so aimless and meaningless that, no matter how much he really couldn't stand Granger, this was the most interesting thing in it?

He often thought about where he'd be right now if Pansy hadn't stopped him from leaving that night. He could have a new name for himself, one that he created and not his father; a respectable job that paid well, with people who looked up to him.

But now…

Just then the door opened, rudely interrupting his thoughts. "You know, there's being fashionably late, and then there's just being rude," she greeted, not even bothering pretending to be pleasant. "I'd say you just illustrated the latter."

Not appreciating having such an abrupt reminder of his reality, he scowled and was about to fire back with something equally sarcastic when he happened to glace down and really look at her.

He first noticed that her hair was actually straight and tame instead of looking as though it had been struck by lightening, but as his eyes traveled down her body, he became aware of other things, like the teasing bit of cleavage that her tight halter black dress showed off.

_Knock it off, Malfoy, _he snarled to himself. i_You're acting as though you've never seen a woman before. And this is Granger, remember? Granger, Granger, Granger._

_But just because you hate her doesn't mean you can't find her attractive..._

It took an immense amount of restraint not to growl out loud. Now was _not_ the time for his mind to be playing devil's advocate, and he did not approve of its attempts to encourage this train of thought. It could only lead to dangerous places, and their sordid night of reckless sex was already an example of one of them. Even though he had been so drunk it had been more of an out-of-body experience than anything else, it was one he had no desire to repeat.

"What's the matter, Malfoy?" she asked, a smirk toying with the corners of her lips. "Cat got your tongue?"

"_No_," he ground out, both hands balled up into fists at his sides. "I'm _late_ because all these fucking houses look the same. It took me ten fucking minutes to find yours. If I hadn't spent so long wandering around like the village idiot, I probably would've gotten the fashionably part right," he finished, flashing her an empty grin.

She looked irritated. "You have my number now—you could've just phoned me."

His grin broadened. "Ah, but that would've been too easy! Where's the fun in that?"

Sighing, she said, "There is no _fun_. It's called being _considerate_… but I guess you don't know that word either."

"Oh, I know the word," he assured her, thinking that these exchanges almost made up for this miserable arrangement. "I just choose to ignore it, along with a bunch of others I could name for you if you'd like to hear them…"

She held up a hand. "Seeing as how they'd probably constitute about half the dictionary, you really don't have to do that. What I would like is to go eat. I'm so hungry I could probably match your appetite today."

He didn't like the sly twist to her smile, but he saw what she was doing, and he wouldn't let her get the best of him a second time.

She might be a woman, but he was a Malfoy.

And Malfoys always—well, except his father—came out on top.

* * *

**to be continued**


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note: **Things start to get rough from here on out, folks. Just a warning! Thank you to everyone who has taken the time to leave a review—I really appreciate it! Enjoy!

* * *

**Part III**

**

* * *

**

Hermione Granger had never wanted to be _one of those women._

Now that she was starting to show more, it was getting harder to hide her pregnancy, and very soon she wouldn't be able to at all. Unless she was out with Malfoy, which they kept to once a week or once every other, she was always alone, and she bore no rings. When she was younger, she'd always thought poorly of women she'd perceived to be in the position she was in now—_why would you even _want _to keep the child of someone who'd left you, who you didn't even love, _she would ask her mother.

_You shouldn't judge what you don't understand, _her mother would respond with a smile. _You might think you do now, but you might find your views to be a little different when you're older._

Hermione was pretty sure her mother hadn't meant for her to experience this herself to gain this understanding, and if everything about this weren't so unappealing, she might have laughed at the irony of it all.

She hadn't even revealed her pregnancy to her parents yet, and her relationship with them was just another part of her current unhappiness.

It had been strained ever since she'd gone to Australia to restore their memories. While they understood that she'd just been trying to protect them, they hadn't appreciated the means with which she'd done it, and didn't like the way she'd abused her abilities.

"We had no problem with going to Australia," _her mother had told her, tears in her eyes_. "But our memories are part of what shape us and make us who we are. What right did you have to take those away, even if it was never going to be permanent?"

"We will always love you, and this hasn't changed that," _her father assured her, a hand on her shoulder. _"We just need time to trust you again."

Time had passed but it seemed as though nothing had really changed, and now Hermione missed her parents more than ever. She had never envisioned struggling through pregnancy alone—Malfoy's occasional company hardly counted as support—and while nothing was exactly _stopping_ her from telling her parents, she was certain they would condemn the entire situation. Even though she considered herself to be a strong, independent woman, she wasn't sure she could handle any more disapproval from the ones she loved the most, even if she _did _deserve it.

She _did _regret taking their memories, making them forget who they'd been, and who she'd been to them, knew that she could've found another option.

_But they're safe now, and alive._

It was that thought that consoled her when she began to despair over how things were now, and what she could've done differently.

Just then her phone rang, snapping her abruptly out of her despondent thoughts. A puzzled frown pulled her eyebrows together as she pulled it out of her pocket—hardly anyone ever called her these days—and the frown deepened when she saw her father's name on her caller ID. They never called this late since they got up fairly early in the morning for work, unless, of course, there was some emergency…

Her mouth was suddenly dry. "Dad?"

"Your mother's been in a car accident—she'll be okay, but I know she'd want you to be at the hospital with her. I'm on my way to get you, and should be there in fifteen minutes. Hermione? Hermione, are you there?"

She'd slid down to the floor, head leaning against her chair and her hand pressed to her heart. "Yeah," she managed, slightly breathless, "I'm here, dad. I'll be ready to go when you get here."

"Okay, sweetheart. I'll be there soon," he said, remarkably calm.

"All right," she said, struggling to regain control of herself. He'd said it wasn't serious…but what if he just didn't want to tell her how bad it really _was_? Before he disconnected, she rushed, "Dad?"

"Yes?"

"Thank you," she whispered.

He sounded sad. "Of course, darling. Of course."

It wasn't until she hung up, however, that she remembered the pregnancy.

_Shit._

She couldn't very well call her father back to say, _oh by the way I'm pregnant, _but this was not the way she'd intended for them to find out, and she couldn't imagine timing that was more horrible than this.

Groaning, she covered her face in her hands.

Why did everything always have to fall apart at once?

* * *

"What would you say…if I told you I was the father of Granger's kid?"

Pansy Parkinson just took one look at him before she burst out laughing. "What sort of game is this, Draco? Are you trying to be funny?"

He wrapped his hands tightly around his drink, scowling down at it. What in Merlin's name had possessed him to say that to her? Even though this had been starting to eat away at him, Draco Malfoy didn't discuss his problems or—Circe forbid—his _feelings _with anyone. It didn't matter if he'd actually _wanted_ to talk about this with someone. It simply wasn't done.

Better that everyone assume he didn't have feelings and was a coldhearted bastard than to expose any sort of weakness, even to Pansy, the one person in his life who came closest to having the title of _friend_.

But he couldn't take it back now so he just sat there in silence, waiting for her to figure it out.

Her laughter finally died down, and when he didn't say anything, she stared at him. He could see the light snap on as her eyes bulged. "_Fuck_."

"Yeah, that basically sums it up," he grumbled, expression stormy.

She leaned back in her chair with her arms folded across her chest as she continued to stare at him. "But that would mean you've…"

"_Yes,_" he growled, growing more irritated with himself by the minute, "I've obviously had sex with her, and we obviously neglected to use protection...that generally _is _how these things happen. Are there any other idiotic things you'd like to point out?"

She rolled her eyes. "Come on, Draco. You would suggest I get my head examined if I told you I were knocked up with _Weasel's_ spawn, so don't you even think of telling me you didn't expect this reaction. I _know _you've obviously had sex with her, you dumbass. But this is _Granger_! How did that even _happen_? You hate that self-righteous little bitch!"

He pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling the beginnings of what would ultimately be a brilliant headache pounding behind his eyes. "I don't bloody _know_, okay? It was the night my father was put away, and I was pretty smashed by that point…we happened to be at the same pub that night, and she was on her way to getting drunk, although hell if I know why. Something to do with Weasel, maybe."

Slouching down in his seat, he continued, sighing, "She was lecturing me about something. You've seen how she can get. And I wanted her to shut up, but I didn't want to leave the pub because I wasn't done drinking."

"So, what, you had sex with her to get her to stop talking to you?" Pansy asked, incredulous, still staring at him as though he'd grown two more heads since she'd met him at the pub.

"_No,_" he ground out, wanting to bash his head against a wall, a frequent desire when talking with Pansy. "I just kissed her. I was under the influence, okay?" He winced as, against his will, he began to remember that night that was now close to the top of his list of Worst Events Ever…

_She pushed him away fiercely, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. "_Ugh! What in Merlin's name do you think you're doing? Are you out of your bloody _mind_?"

_He grinned wolfishly at her. _"You looked like you could use a good kiss, and your voice was getting on my nerves. Granted, you're _still _talking, but you're reaction was worth it. If only you could've seen your face! Priceless."

"It's not my problem if you can't handle the truth," _she said, scowling. _"You shouldn't feel too badly, though. A lot of people can't."

"So then should I be _thanking _you for so kindly pointing it out to me?" _he returned, sarcasm oozing out of every word._

_She wiped at her mouth again, continuing to glower at him. _"I think my lips will be traumatized for life." _As her eyes moved down his body, she smirked. _"Did that actually…turn you on?"

_He scoffed. _"Granger, in a healthy straight male, this will salute anything with breasts. It's just acknowledging that you are, in fact, a woman, so don't be too flattered."

"Please, Malfoy. It wouldn't bother standing to attention for the ugliest woman, in spite of her breasts," _she countered, rolling her eyes, her smirk turning into a pleased grin. _"Does this mean you're…attracted to me? A Mudblood?"

"_Please_, Granger," _he mocked, imitating her voice. _"Don't make me laugh."

"So this," _she said, looking sly as she quickly reached out to press her hand firmly on top of the bulge of his trousers, _"has absolutely no affect on you whatsoever?"

_He was so surprised he couldn't hide his hiss. Bloody hell! What sort of game was this woman playing with him? _You started it though_, an inner voice reminded him. _You didn't have to kiss her_. Damn it all. This was _not _what he had in mind. _"I wouldn't be much of a man if it didn't."

_She shrugged. _"Well, as I said earlier, it's not my problem if you can't handle the truth…"

"Draco? Draco, are you even listening to me?"

He dragged his attention back to Pansy's face reluctantly. "I'm sorry, you were saying?"

"Honestly, I don't even know why I bother with you anymore," she exclaimed, throwing her hands up.

"Then don't," he said simply. There were aspects of her company that he would miss, but he was pretty sure he could survive without it.

"You're not getting rid of me that easily," she said, sighing. "Even though you would never admit it to anyone, I know you would miss talking to me. I know you too well, probably even better than you know yourself. You told me all this for a reason, even if you're wishing you'd kept your mouth shut. Are you actually going to help her raise it?"

Taking a swig from his drink, he said, "I don't know. Yes. Maybe." Swallowing his pride with the alcohol, he said, "What do you think I should do?"

She frowned. "As much as I dislike her, it took some serious guts for her to tell you, and I have to respect that."

He scowled. "Is this the part where you tell me I'd be a coward if I deserted?"

"Is that what _she_ told you, then?" she said, smiling slightly.

His scowl deepened. "In so many words."

"Why do you care so much about what she thinks of you?" she asked, genuine curiosity in her tone.

"Because it pisses me off," he snarled, with such ferocity that she blinked at him. "She thinks that she can just sit on her high horse and pass judgments on me when she knows _nothing _about me, about why I've had to make the choices I did!"

Pansy looked thoughtful. "So are you saying you _want_ her to get to know you?"

"I don't know!" he cried, frustrated and angry. "I stayed at first because I didn't _want _to do what she expected of me, but I'm starting to regret that now. It's true it might help my image once the Wizarding world is used to seeing us together, but that's not going to happen for a while. There's no way I can leave now without looking like the biggest chicken shit alive! She's trapped me, and I hate her for it!"

"It's funny," Pansy mused, "how hate can sometimes bring two people together even closer than love."

"Ha ha," he mumbled unenthusiastically as he downed the rest of his drink.

"Stop brooding," she said prissily, "it's not attractive. If you want to wallow, fine, but I'm not going to have any part in it. You know, if you'd only just let someone in there," she continued as she stood to leave, pointing at his heart, "you would probably be happier. Life's not worth living on your own, Draco, and I would do more for you if you'd just _let _me."

As she left, leaving him with his thoughts, Draco had never felt more alone in his life. Even though this was a state of being that he was used to, Pansy's words had only made him more acutely aware of his weariness of, well, everything.

* * *

As it turned out, her father had actually been telling the truth.

The accident hadn't been serious—their car had taken the brunt of the damage from a reckless drunk driver—and they had been able to check her mother out of the hospital later that evening. Her father had told her it had helped put things in perspective.

"After I got the call, I couldn't help but think about all the what ifs, about how tragic it would have been if either of us were to die before things had been completely resolved between us," _her father said as they drove to the hospital. _"I don't want this to affect our relationship anymore. We know you were just protecting us, and that should really be enough."

_Hermione's eyes stung with tears. _"I should've found another way, I should've approached McGonagall…but the Order already had more burdens than it could handle, and I didn't want to burden them with you, too. I was convinced I could take care of things by myself." _A sad smile touched the corners of her mouth. _"I'll never do anything like that to you again, I promise."

_Her father placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. _"We know, darling, and our feelings aren't going to change after your mother gets better. We understand, and we forgive you. We miss you, and want things to be as they were again."

They'd even taken the news of her pregnancy relatively well as she told them the entire story in their living room.

_Her mother had looked almost heartbroken. _"Oh, Hermione. We'd never intended for you to feel as though you couldn't tell us something like this. I wish—and I can probably speak for your father too—that you hadn't gotten pregnant this way, but your decision to forgo the abortion must have been incredibly difficult, and I respect your choice."

_Hermione looked down at her lap. _"It was one of the hardest choices I've ever had to make. Deep down, I always knew I was going to end up keeping it, but confronting that option meant accepting my situation as reality. It didn't really become real until I stood in front of the abortion clinic, and when I couldn't even go inside I knew what I had to do."

_She sighed, biting her lip. _"I was so sure you wouldn't approve, and I couldn't even bring myself to tell you, in part because I was also just so ashamed of myself."

_Her father reached over to put a hand on her knee. _"I'm proud of your choice, Hermione, like your mother. I regret that we weren't there for you in the beginning, but if you want us to be there for you now, we'd like to, very much."

_Her mother was frowning. _"You said the father is this Malfoy boy? Wasn't he the one who always gave you a hard time in school?"

_Hermione sighed. She'd been waiting for this. _"Yes…I honestly couldn't really tell you how any of this happened in the first place. I suppose I _was_ being obnoxious, but I think that, in the end, he really just wanted to use me, and I childishly wanted to hurt Ron for not wanting to be with me. Well I did hurt him," _she said, always sad when she thought of the way his face had looked before it was taken over by anger, _"but I never wanted this to happen."

She was home now, and after having used one of her sick days at the library just so she could think without distractions, her mind was finally clear again, and the reconciliation with her parents had definitely helped her.

These last several months she'd felt as though she'd lost herself. Even though nothing had changed her situation with Malfoy, she had found new strength from her parents, and was even more determined not to let Malfoy take advantage of her with his little mind games.

First and foremost, she was a survivor, and she would get through this and come out even stronger, like she had with every other hardship in her life.

* * *

In spite of his earlier conclusions, Draco Malfoy had finally, more or less, accepted the fact that he couldn't really walk away from Granger.

Even though he'd vehemently denied it to Pansy, he was annoyed that her opinion of him bothered him so much, and while he told himself he just wanted to prove her wrong, that just brought him full circle.

Why?

Why did he even really care?

This was the question that was on his mind as he went down to Diagon Alley to run an errand for his mother, who wanted some books from Flourish and Blotts.

While no wizard had yet attempted to harass him in a physical way, the War was too close for comfort for him to feel _completely_ safe, and he never took his chances. He didn't like saying no to his mother, however, and even though he would've preferred to be going during the day, she hadn't asked him until after dinner, and getting out of the flat had sounded appealing at the time.

It was cold and dark when he left the shop, but it felt good to him, and he needed the time to think. If he hadn't been thinking so much about Granger, though, he would've been paying more attention to his surroundings. He would've had his wand in his hand, not tucked away inside his coat where it wasn't as accessible. If he hadn't been too wrapped up in his mind, he would've sensed that he was being followed. He would've remembered not to feel too relaxed, too comfortable, especially in such familiar surroundings.

But his mind was such a distraction that he _wasn't _really paying close attention to these things, and when the acidic voice spoke from behind him it was too late.

"Well, well…if it isn't the littlest Malfoy, out all by himself."

So startled he almost jumped, Draco spun around quickly, practically knocking into the wizard positioned behind him.

And that's when he saw that he was surrounded—they must've been following him since he left Flourish and Blotts.

There were six of them, including the speaker, and even though it was dark, he couldn't identify anyone, but chances were he didn't know them, that they were just a normal gang who thought he should've been punished more thoroughly.

His hand went instinctively for his wand, but the man in front of him was waiting for it.

"_Expelliarmus_," he said almost lazily, and Draco watched with a sense of detached fear as his wand flew into the wizard's grasp. He couldn't make a run for it, and they were already circling around him so there weren't any holes in the formation.

He didn't think they were out to kill him—they probably just wanted to teach him a lesson—but that thought didn't exactly make him feel any better. Shouting for help would be pointless and stupid, as it was already pretty deserted, and he couldn't really do anything to stop them as they backed him down an even darker alley off the main drag.

"You have a lot to answer for, young Malfoy. Apparently the Wizengamot didn't think so, but we don't really care about your age." The wizard in front of him was still doing all the talking, and Draco suspected he was the leader of this group. "We figured _someone_ needed to give you the punishment you escaped, and we'll start with this," he finished, looking thoughtfully at his wand.

Figuring it would be better to remain silent, he just glared, holding his purchase in front of him almost protectively.

"Since you don't really deserve this," the wizard went on, his voice as cold as the weather, "there's really only one thing to do to it," and he finished by snapping it in two, watching with a malicious smile on his face as the pieces fell to the ground.

Draco felt very odd.

He knew he should be stricken with some feelings of loss over the destruction of his wand, but it was as though he were observing this whole situation from above, without any real control over his body. He felt detached, numb, and he knew he would care later but he couldn't bring himself to now.

There had only really been one time in his life he'd been beaten so badly he hadn't been able to walk properly for days, and that had been after his failure to kill Dumbledore. Even though this situation wasn't really like that, he couldn't get it out of his head, and now that it was rushing back to him, he felt almost paralyzed by it.

"Oops," the wizard said, leering at him, as the others around him laughed. "You'll be able to get a new one, though, assuming we don't get too carried away tonight. See, we don't want to use our wands either—that won't be nearly as satisfying as, say, fighting the old-fashioned way."

Draco _did _feel real fear then, but he wasn't going to go down without a fight of his own and he would give it his all, and he hung on to this thought as the first punch connected with his jaw, and the second with his stomach, knocking his mother's books to the ground…

* * *

When he woke up, he didn't even remember that he'd lost consciousness.

It was even darker than it had been earlier, and he panicked when he couldn't really see anything. After blinking, though, he started to make out the alley and shops in the distance, the scattered books around him, and his broken wand in front of him.

He was in an awkward position, and as awareness returned, the first thing he noticed was the cold although he'd been waiting for pain. _Coward_, he thought bitterly as he lay there, unwilling to move. Finally, though, he attempted to force himself up into a sitting position, instantly regretting it as his injuries loudly made themselves known, and he fell back with a groan.

_Fuck._

How humiliating.

If only he'd been paying more attention, he would've…he would've what? Killed them? He hadn't even been able to kill a defenseless old man. He would've hexed them, certainly, but he'd been woefully outnumbered with no way to summon help.

_You could've at least Disapparated._

Yeah, he could've done that.

But his guard had been down, and now here he was, lying on the ground, with a snapped wand and a body that was pretty much useless.

And now he had to walk home, or at least out of Diagon Alley, and find a taxi.

He hated taxis.

Before he did any of that though, he was going to have to get up so he wouldn't die of hypothermia.

But where was he going to go?

His mother would have a heart attack if she saw him like this, and would smother him with suffocating but loving overprotection far into the unforeseeable future. Pansy would lecture him, and would probably find some way to use this against him later.

He had to go somewhere, that was a given, but somewhere that wasn't a hospital, to someone who would be able heal him on their own…

Bloody hell—that left Granger.

Fuck.

Fuck fucking fuck.

* * *

Later, he wouldn't remember the long journey to her door.

He hadn't been able to flag down a cab until he was almost out of London, and although the driver had given his appearance a curious look, he hadn't said anything after Draco slapped down some cash.

It wasn't until he stepped out when he realized it must be some ungodly early hour in the morning, but it was too late for that sort of thinking. Here he was, and he was so tired and sore and fucking _freezing _that the thought of walking any more almost made him want to cry.

Except he was a Malfoy, and Malfoys never cried.

Well, almost never.

He raised his hand and banged loudly on her door, bracing himself.

This was not going to be pleasant.

He paused his banging to listen for sounds of activity inside, and was just about to knock again when it opened, revealing a bedraggled and thoroughly irritated looking Hermione Granger.

"Do you have _any _idea what time it—oh my _god_," she breathed, hand flying to her mouth, for a moment too stunned to say anything more, her eyes widening by the second.

Well, he supposed that answered his question of how bad he must look.

He tried to grin at her, but it was probably pretty demented. "Good morning," he said, dimly aware that he was starting to sway and his vision was blurring again, and he only had time to think that he was going to feel incredibly humiliated when he regained complete awareness before he passed out.

* * *

**to be continued**


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note: **Please forgive my horrible lateness! My laptop died and it's taken me a while to get organized again, but thank goodness this was already posted in its entirety at the dmhgficexchange! Thank you so much to everyone who has reviewed—now it's time for the angst! Only one more after this! I hope you all enjoy!

* * *

**Part IV**

**

* * *

  
**

Consciousness came back to him slowly, but the first thing he noticed was that he was lying on something soft. Remaining still for a few seconds, he reveled in the comfort before he tentatively lifted a leg. The absence of pain took him by surprise, and, feeling brave, he rolled over, only to find the softness disappear. He was falling, and he was so startled he didn't even have time to make a sound as he hit the floor abruptly with a _thud._

Momentarily winded, his eyes snapped open as he lifted his head slightly to rub his neck with one hand while he supported himself with the other.

And then he remembered where he was.

_Shit._

"Malfoy?"

Twisting his neck in the direction his mumbled name had come from, his weary eyes rested on Granger sprawled in a rocking chair by the hearth, her hair looking even more ridiculous than usual.

He sat up, noting the couch he must've tumbled out of to his left, and slowly got up to sit on the edge of it.

She was looking at him now, expression wary. "How do you feel?"

He tried to smile. "Better."

He supposed this was also where a decent person would say thank you, but he wasn't exactly a decent person, and he'd never really thanked anyone in his life. Even after everything she'd done for him, he was having a hard time even thinking of how to utter them. He was grateful, but his pride was getting in the way, and it had already taken quite a fall. But maybe there was a way he could say the words indirectly…

"I healed what I could," she said quietly, "but a couple of your ribs were broken, so they'll probably be a little sore for a few days. You were, er, pretty banged up."

He could see her trying to figure out if this was something she could ask about, and he sighed. While he wasn't about to tell her all the gory details, he supposed she did have a right to know _something._ "Some people weren't too happy that I wasn't punished along with my parents, and I guess you were one of them at the time," he said with a shrug. "I should have expected something like this to happen at some point, but I had a lot on my mind and my guard was down. It won't happen again."

"I might not like what you've done, but I don't condone this kind of behavior." She looked fierce.

He flashed her an empty grin, too tired to summon his usual biting sarcasm. "Even for cowards like me?"

A surprised expression filled her face. "That comment I made really bothered you, didn't it?"

"Aren't you perceptive," he mumbled, scowling.

It was her turn to sigh, and after a beat of silence said, "It wasn't fair of me…I'm sorry. I know you were just trying to protect your parents, and I know it's not right to judge what I don't understand. I'll try not to."

He stared at her—he hadn't been expecting an apology. Feeling suddenly uncomfortable, he said awkwardly, "Don't worry about it."

A heavy silence settled between them, and just as it was starting to become unbearable, Draco cleared his throat and said, "Well I guess I, er, should probably be getting home, before my mother starts to panic. What time is it anyway?"

"About six in the morning," she said, rising as he got to his feet.

He fished in his pockets for his mobile, and groaned when he saw that it was smashed, which reminded him of his broken wand. "Bugger. Hopefully she hasn't been calling…"

She frowned. "Would you like to use mine to let her know you're okay?"

"Nah," he said as he bent to pick up his books which she'd placed by the couch, "she's not usually up this early…I should be able to sneak in."

There was a dubious look on her face, but she said, "If you insist…"

At that moment, the doorbell rang.

"Honestly!" Granger cried as she threw up her hands, marching towards the door.

He skulked to the background as she yanked it open brutally, and his jaw hit the floor when he saw Pansy Parkinson standing on her front step, looking dark.

"_Pansy_?" Granger said, finding her voice. "What are _you_ doing here?"

Draco wondered how long he would last undetected, and wished this exchange were happening under different circumstances so he could find it more amusing.

Pansy's expression darkened further. "Trust me, Granger, this is the last place I want to be right now, but I was wondering if…" and then her eyes found him.

"For Merlin's sake, Draco," she cried, stepping around Granger into the foyer, "have you been here all night? Your mother's worried sick about you—"

Granger looked confused. "How did you even know he'd be here?"

"I didn't," Pansy said, "but Narcissa phoned me when she happened to see his bed was empty, and I thought you'd know…"

Her eyes widened in understanding, and turning to face him, she cried, "You _told_ her?"

He definitely regretted that entire conversation now. "It sort of…slipped out…"

"_Slipped_ out? How does something like that just _slip_ out?" she accused, folding her arms across her chest.

He opened his mouth to protest, but before anything could come out, Pansy interrupted, "As entertaining as this is, I'd like to get back to sleeping, which can only happen if I get you home. There had better be a good explanation for this…"

"Oh trust me, the story's great," he said sarcastically, and Granger almost looked as though she were ready to defend him, but he shook his head at her. He would tell Pansy the same diluted version he'd told her, and would then get her to promise that she wouldn't relay a single word to his mother.

He had plenty of time to invent a plausible story to explain his absence that wouldn't worry her.

"I really am sorry to have bothered you, Granger," Pansy said, wrinkling her nose. "At least I can assure you it won't happen again."

"No hard feelings," Granger said, laughing slightly, and then turned to him and said, "This conversation isn't finished."

"I'm looking forward to part two already," he said with a smirk, and was almost out the door when something made him pause. He hadn't wanted her to find out that Pansy knew of course, and a voice urged him to placate her now so she wouldn't be as angry later.

Before he had time to change his mind, he added, "Oh, and Granger?"

She merely looked curious. "Yes?"

If there were only one instance in his life where he would have to say these words, this would probably be the best time.

She had already seen him at his weakest—this couldn't possibly hurt any more.

He smiled tightly. "Thank you."

She smiled broadly back. "You're welcome."

* * *

After that, they reached a strange, unofficial sort of truce.

She stopped lecturing him about the past, and he didn't act so put out all the time. She didn't necessarily like him any more than she had, but as the days turned into weeks and the weeks turned into months, they grew comfortable around each other, and she found that she'd actually grown used to his presence.

"What about Ingrid?"

He wrinkled his nose. "I'd feel like I'd be talking to my great grandmother or something. How about Scorpius?"

She snorted, almost choking on her cola. "Definitely not."

They'd gone out for pudding, and had somehow ended up discussing names. Now approaching five months, she was pleased that she wasn't too large, but she'd been putting on the pounds and felt generally unattractive all the time. Malfoy restrained from making comments about her appearance, which she would've deemed considerate had it not been him, but sometimes she wished he would say at least a few positive things if only to make her feel better.

Today she was feeling particularly gross, but the name conversation had been a successful distraction.

He rolled his eyes as he sipped his drink. "You dislike my names, and I dislike yours. This is getting us nowhere. At this rate, the—our baby will just be called _you_."

She guffawed. "Well, there has to be one name we agree on. At least we still have time to figure out which one it is…"

Suddenly there was a little flutter beneath her hand. Sitting up straighter, she wondered if she'd completely imagined it when there it was again. Eyes widening, she cried, "Malfoy…I think I felt a kick! The baby's starting to kick!"

He frowned. "Are you sure?"

She looked exasperated. "Yes, of course I'm—there, it kicked again! Come on and feel for yourself!"

Wariness settled in his eyes. "Really?"

She laughed, feeling giddy, and this was definitely the most excited she'd been during the entire pregnancy. She'd been so worried that she _was_ going to end up regretting keeping the baby, that it wouldn't even really feel as though it were hers in spite of the fact that it was growing inside her. She was so relieved those fears were unfounded that not even Malfoy would be able to bother her for the rest of the day. "It's just a kick, Malfoy, it's not as though it can bite you or anything. Come on, I want you to feel this."

"What's so special about a kick?" he grumbled, but he dragged his chair next to her reluctantly, and without even really thinking about it she took one of his hands in hers and placed it on her stomach, eagerly studying his face for a reaction.

Sighing, he said, "Well, apparently it doesn't want to kick for…" he broke off, eyebrows pulling together. "Wait, what does it feel like?"

Her smile broadened. "It's like a flutter."

"There," he said suddenly, "there. I did feel it. Wow. Holy crap."

His eyes met hers then, and even though they weren't as bright as hers, there was a smile in them.

Maybe, just maybe, there was some hope for them after all.

* * *

"Malfoy, can you do dinner Friday night?"

After having spent the evening at the cinema, he was now walking her back to her place, and he frowned as he considered the question. He'd been spending more and more time with her, and even though his mother hadn't yet become suspicious as to what he was doing, she'd been starting to ask questions. He could probably get away with another night, though. "Sure."

She looked almost guilty. "It would, er, be with my parents. They'd really like to meet you, but if you don't want to do this, I'm sure they wouldn't mind."

Dinner with Granger's parents?

What would they even have to talk about?

_So, Draco, what did you want to be when you were growing up?_

_A Death Eater, because killing in the name of the Dark Lord would be so cool, especially if they were Mudbloods._

He winced at the hypothetical conversation before giving her a suspicious look. "How much have you told them about me?"

It was her turn to wince. "I told them quite a bit of our Hogwarts days, but just for their sake I've said I misjudged you and that you, er, really weren't that bad. So they probably won't be that hard on you, if that makes you feel better."

He didn't really care about them though, and he grinned wolfishly at her. "Not that bad, huh?"

She rolled her eyes. "Oh, for Merlin's sake. Would you _like_ them to ask you what you're doing with a Mudblood?"

Smirking, he said, "Well, when you put it like that…"

"Honestly," she bit out, "I was placating them, not intentionally giving you a compliment. So, what is it? Yes or no?"

"If I say yes," he said thoughtfully, thinking that he only would because he thought it almost might be entertaining, "what am I?"

She stared at him. "What are you? Is this a trick question?"

"_Honestly,_" he mimicked, "it was pretty straightforward to me, actually, but I'll rephrase. What are _we_? Are we dating? Engaged? Enemies drawn together by their hate?"

She frowned. "We're dating, I guess…but I guess we got the order a bit wrong, didn't we?"

He'd meant the question facetiously at first, but now he wasn't so sure.

_Were_ they dating?

They'd certainly been behaving like a couple, except for the fact that they really hated each other and hadn't even kissed yet, their night of sex notwithstanding, which only happened because they'd been using the other…so that didn't really count, aside from the whole resulting pregnancy thing.

He'd been thinking so much about each day that he hadn't ever really seriously considered the future, even in the beginning, but now it was suddenly staring him in the face, and it was ugly. She obviously wasn't going to be pregnant forever, and time was slowly starting to run out.

What happened to them after the baby was born?

Was he supposed to…_marry_ her?

In many ways he was still adjusting to the manhood that had been so abruptly thrust upon him—how in the name of Morgana was he going to be able to raise a child?

"Malfoy?" she questioned, and he thought he detected concern in her voice.

Bloody hell…he'd been so wrapped up in himself that he'd actually almost forgotten she was here, and that whole inner conversation had probably played out on his face.

"I'm fine," he grumbled.

"I hear a _but_ in there somewhere," she said quietly, "so I know you're not telling me everything…do you want to talk about it?"

His eyes dropped to the ground. "Not really, no."

She sighed heavily. "I won't push you to tell me tonight, but do you think you could later?"

His lips twisted into a grimace. "I'll work on it."

"Well, that was more of an answer than I'd been expecting," she said, but he thought she sounded sad. "So—dinner with my parents Friday?"

He wanted to say no, he really, really did. But what he ended up saying was, "Yeah, fine. And maybe you could teach my mother how to cook properly before she burns the flat down with her experimenting."

"Narcissa cooks?" she asked, but the question had a surprised lift to it.

If his mind weren't so overwhelmed, he would've responded with something snarky, but he wasn't feeling the sarcasm at the moment. "She's been trying for months now, but still hasn't been able to really get the hang of it. At least the smoke detectors only go off once a week now."

She smiled, but it looked forced. "That sounds…nice. I'd like to meet your mother properly. She saved Harry's life, and even though we're not exactly friends anymore, we might not even be here right now if it weren't for her. I don't think people quite understand how much the Wizarding world owes her for that."

He rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet, feeling uncomfortable. "She was entirely self-serving—she just did it for me, not the world."

This time her smile was genuine. "But she didn't have to do it at all."

* * *

Hermione had been so worried about the dinner, but it ended up going smoother than even she'd ever anticipated. She'd commanded her parents not to bring up anything from their Hogwarts days, and Malfoy was the perfect image of a gentleman, polite and respectful.

After he left, her father said, "He doesn't seem at all like the bully you used to go on so much about."

"He's grown up, dad," she said with a smile, before she elaborated, "okay, well he's still growing, really, but the War changed us all, and aside from Harry, he probably had the hardest time. It wasn't really until afterwards, when I saw him in the Great Hall with his parents, that I realized he wasn't that much different than we were—he was just protecting his family, the only way he could. Realizing is one thing, though…it's taken me awhile to completely accept it, but I think I have now."

Her mother was looking at her thoughtfully. "I noticed the two of you interacted more like friends than a couple. Was that because of us, or are you like that all the time?"

"It's hard _not_ like that," she said ruefully. "We've hated each other for so long that it's difficult not to. I don't judge him as harshly now, and we've reached a level of understanding that we didn't have before, but a part of me still resents him for putting me in this situation, even though we were both at fault."

"And it's natural to feel that way," her father assured her. "But…is he staying with you now for the right reasons? Is he _still_ using you?"

She frowned. "We have an understanding."

Her mother touched her hands lightly. "But is he ever going to propose?"

The guffaw burst through her lips before she could stop it, and she covered her mouth with her hand, eyes suddenly widening. Now she thought she understood why Malfoy had become so pale the other night. Was it possible that was the first time he had really seeing the—their—future?

"I guess the question we should really be asking," her father broke in, quietly, "is if you'd even _want_ him to."

_Of course you wouldn't,_ her brain shouted defensively, but once that knee-jerk reaction was out of her system, she sat back and really thought about it.

She had told him in the first place because he _did_ have the right to know, and whether or not he wanted to be involved with his child wasn't a decision she could make for him, even if she hadn't wanted him to be.

But she had only been thinking about the child, not her.

Even if he _were_ to propose—although the idea was so laughable she had a hard time taking it seriously—but if he were to, _would_ she say yes, if only for the sake of their baby? And if she would never even consider that reply, then what the hell was she doing?

* * *

Their future had now become the hippogriff in the room.

They both knew they had to talk about it but neither of them wanted to, so they kept on waiting for the other to bring it up. Even Hermione wasn't willing to explore these waters, and the tension followed them around like a threatening black storm cloud. It felt almost as though they were back on their early dates, guarding every word, except now even pleasantries weren't entirely safe.

When she went in for her ultrasound halfway through her fifth month and the doctor told her with a smile that it was a girl, she wasn't sure if she felt like laughing or crying. She wanted to be happy, as happy as she'd been when felt the baby's kicks, but she couldn't quite enjoy it.

Things were _too_ real now.

Sure, they'd fallen into patterns and were getting used to being there for the other, but they wouldn't be able to go on like this forever. Once the baby was born, she was going to need him to help her more, and that was going to require that he sleep over. She couldn't expect him to sleep on the couch, but that left the bed, but the intimacy of that made her shudder.

She'd said to her parents that they only really knew how to hate each other. While it certainly wasn't as strong as before, there was definitely still some resentment, even after the night Malfoy had fainted on her doorstep.

And they were supposed to raise a _girl_ together, a girl who deserved to be brought up in a loving household. _Was_ there even a point if the love wasn't there, if their daughter grew up knowing that she hadn't been planned, or even wanted?

These were the thoughts that were plaguing her as she let herself into her house, heading straight for the rocking chair in her living room. She sat down, hugging herself gently, struggling not to cry.

She was stronger than this, she was.

And she couldn't afford to let her emotions get the best of her, not when she had so much to work out that required a clear, level head.

Suddenly the doorbell rang, and even though she didn't want to answer it, she was pretty sure she knew who it was, and she was tired of hiding. It was time for them to face the truth, no matter what that would end up being. Gritting her teeth, she got up to get the door, hoping she didn't look as awful as she felt when she opened it. "Malfoy, I've been doing some thinking…"

"Granger, I've been doing some thinking…" he said at the same time, and when he broke off with an impish grin she couldn't help but laugh in spite of the gravity of their impending conversation.

At least she felt a little more relaxed as he followed her into the living room. A heavy silence sat between them, when he finally said with a sigh, "Look, Granger, this isn't easy for me to say, but I guess you—deserve it. When I decided to do this…I was only thinking about myself. It's what I do best after all, isn't it? I didn't protect my family very well, and I could be treating my mother better. She can't help that she still feels loyal to father…at least they love each other, right?"

She had her mouth open, but when she realized it was poised with some sarcastic quip about his parents, she snapped it shut immediately. Now was not the place for that.

"But that's really what this is about, right?" he continued softly, not really looking at her. "How we feel about each other? Even with our…understanding…I don't know if I can…"

At that moment, her doorbell rang again, and she let out a string of curses.

Of all the days to be popular!

He was looking at her appreciatively, though, and she glowered at him as she got up to answer it. "_What_, Malfoy?"

"Oh, nothing," he said, smirking, "I just had no idea you even knew what half those words were."

She rolled her eyes. "Oh, shut up. Will you remember the rest of that thought later?"

"I don't know, I have a short attention span," he snapped.

"Oh for heaven's sake," she ground out, already irritated at this mystery person for interrupting the flow as she opened the door and found herself face to face with Ron Weasley.

"This is the worst timed entrance ever," she said testily, hands on her hips, "so this had better be important."

"Look, Hermione," he said carefully, "I just want to talk. Can I come in?"

"That depends on what you want to walk about," she said warily, aware of Malfoy's presence in the living room. The last thing she needed was a confrontation, which would undoubtedly get violent.

He sighed. "I want to talk about us."

She stared at him. "I thought we've already established that there is no us?"

"We did," he said slowly, "but I've come to realize some things—I wanted to tell you that I forgive you, and I have an, er, apology of my own to make. I know it's been a long time, " he added, his eyes drifting down to rest on her round stomach, "but I didn't want to let it go any longer."

Hoping he would be willing to compromise, she said, "Now's not really a good time."

"This won't take long, I just need to get it off my chest," he insisted, and he gently tried to step passed her.

She tried to block him, but Ron had always been taller than her by a generous amount, and, very quickly, the damage was done. He looked like a coil, tightly wound and ready to spring. "What's he doing here?"

Resigned, she said, "That would be why this isn't a good time."

"You're not…" he wrinkled his nose in disgust, "_dating_, are you?"

"I don't see how that's any of your business," she said tightly, trying to figure out how she could get him to leave before this could escalate any more.

"Maybe I could almost understand…before…but why would you _willingly_—" he was really struggling with the words.

"This _is_ his daughter too," she snapped, "and he has a right to be here if he wants."

"Why would he _want_ to be here willingly? Hermione, he's using you!" Ron cried, completely in the foyer now.

"Back off, Weasel," Malfoy growled, crossing the distance between them. "It's not my fault that you missed the window."

"The _window_?" Ron spluttered, outraged, but Hermione cut him off before he could say more, desperate to end this.

"This is between Malfoy and myself, Ron," she said, trying to be diplomatic, "and I do want to talk with you, but about us, not Malfoy."

"Well Malfoy's here now," Ron said, folding his arms across his chest. "Maybe we should talk about him."

Malfoy sneered at him. "If you _really_ wanted to be with her, you wouldn't have waited until she was pregnant to tell her."

"You little _shit_—"

And that was all it took before wands were out and raised.

"Honestly!" she cried, "will you two just cut it out—"

Then, several things happened at once.

She moved to position herself between them, and with a growled, "Stay _out_ of this, Hermione" Ron pushed her to the side. It wasn't rough, but she was feeling very unbalanced these days, and because she hadn't been expecting it, she lost her footing, grunting as she fell to the floor.

Time seemed to stand still as she caught her breath, and all they could do was gape at her.

When the clock started ticking again, it was Malfoy who reached out to help her first as she struggled wordlessly to her feet. Ron stepped forward threateningly, fist raised and growling. "You bastard! Look what you've done!"

Finally acknowledging Ron again, Malfoy snarled, "Me? You were the bloody idiot who shoved her out of the way!"

"Why you—"

"_Stop_!" Hermione cried, "I slipped, that's all! I just slipped."

Later, she would remember that it had been Malfoy, not Ron, who had thought of her first instead of on whom to place the blame. Now, though, she was too distraught for that kind of thinking, and this sort of stress was the last thing she needed. If either of them had really been looking out for her at all, they would've realized that before this had even happened. Now Ron was avoiding her eyes completely, and Malfoy had schooled all traces of emotion from his face, looking almost bored.

She sighed heavily. "Ron, I—I think you'd better go. We can talk later, all right?"

Now that the worst of his anger had passed, a guilty expression covered his face. "I'm sorry, Hermione—"

"I _know_, Ron," she assured him, "and you don't need to feel guilty. I'm fine."

Malfoy had actually been silent throughout the exchange, but when Ron left, he asked, almost gently, "Would you like us to continue our conversation later too?"

"Not really," she admitted, "but I think we should at least wait until tomorrow, when this is safely behind us. I think it will be easier now that we've started it, don't you?"

"Sure," he said hollowly, with a shrug of his shoulders. He paused, and then added, "You _were_ going to tell me that we have a girl, weren't you?"

"Of course I was," she said defensively. "Why wouldn't I?"

"I don't know…why _wouldn't_ you?" he asked, almost waspishly.

"Now you're just being ridiculous," she snapped, even though she had been reluctant to tell him. "Look, just go, all right?"

He didn't even say anything as he stalked passed her, slamming the door shut behind him.

Suddenly feeling overwhelmed with the emotion of the day, it took her a moment to realize that her shoulders were trembling, and now that she was alone, she figured she could allow herself this one time to for weakness.

Sliding down the door until she was sitting on the floor, she wrapped her arms around her legs, rested her head against her knees, and just let herself cry.

* * *

**to be continued**


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note: **So this last part is horribly late and I apologize profusely for keeping you all waiting this long! But thank you so much to those of you who have reviewed, and I hope you all enjoy this ending!

* * *

**Part V**

**

* * *

  
**

They both agreed it would be better to wait until after the baby was born to finish their interrupted conversation, which was just as well, since the whole encounter with Ron had given Draco new things to think about.

The concern he'd felt for Granger after her fall had been real, so real in fact that he'd reached out to her without even thinking about it.

The Weasel had basically been right in saying he'd been using her, although in fairness Draco had been trying to tell her that before he barged in on them. But was he still using her? Would even he, Draco, master of using people and getting them to do what he wanted, have even gone this far for Granger if there weren't something else there?

_You hate her. You're using her. You don't care about her or the baby at all._

But, what if…what if it were the hate that wasn't real now? Why had he felt so compelled to tell her the truth, even though she must've been able to figure it out? Was it because he'd been starting to feel guilty, that he'd actually developed a conscience after being around her so much?

Or what if it was more than that?

What if, during all these months, he'd actually started to…

_No. Terminate that thought right now._

He couldn't think that, would forget he'd even considered it.

_You were using her when this began, and nothing will change that._

_Nothing._

_

* * *

_

"Can I ask you something, Malfoy? It's something I've been wondering about for some time now."

He had finally introduced her to his mother, and Granger had helped her make chicken parmesan with spaghetti for dinner. Now the two of them were sitting at his kitchen table, sharing a moment alone while Narcissa went to go lie down.

He thought he knew where she was going with this, and he eyed her warily, not sure that he really wanted to talk about this in his own flat. "What is it this time, Granger?"

Biting her lip, she said, "Do you still feel the same way about Half-bloods and Muggles? Does your mother? I'll try not to judge, I promise. I just…want to understand."

Oh, he was _good_.

He'd actually been surprised she hadn't brought this up earlier, but if he didn't want her asking again, he supposed he should at least try to answer her. When he'd told his mother about her a couple weeks ago, they'd basically had this same discussion, and it had been an enlightening one.

"I'm not sure you will be able to understand," he said finally, leaning back in his chair. "It was just the way I was raised. I believed them, and was never given reason to think that they might be wrong. I didn't even really know exactly how horrible a word Mudblood was until I got to Hogwarts. I haven't thought of you as a Mudblood in a long time, though, and it wasn't until I talked with my mother about you when I found out that she'd never been as extreme about the purity of blood as father."

"Merlin, I was self-righteous back then, wasn't I? We all were," she said, shaking her head. "We hated you almost more than your family, which was unfair really since you had no more control over who your parents were than we did. It wasn't until after Dumbledore's murder when I started to realize that you really weren't all that different from us."

Well, that response was certainly unexpected, and he was so caught off guard that he really didn't know how to answer her.

She smirked. "Maybe I understand more than you think."

Silence settled over them then, but it was comfortable, probably the most comfortable since they'd both started thinking about the distant future.

"Cassiopeia," she said suddenly, and he blinked at her, momentarily confused.

"A name for our daughter," she clarified with a smile. "I noticed your family has a fondness for constellations…and, well, I thought Cassiopeia would be nice."

He tried it out on his tongue to get a feel for the name, and he decided he liked it. It was certainly better than some of the other names they'd been coming up with. "Well, what do you know? There is something that we agree on."

"Imagine that," she said playfully, "miracles can happen."

"Yeah," he echoed, forcing a smile.

After she left, he went upstairs to find his mother, who was lying on her bed reading a book.

"She's sweet," she said, putting down her book as he went to sit beside her. After a pause, she continued, "What do you intend to do with her after the baby is born?"

He sighed, frustrated. "I don't know! It was never supposed to be like this—we've always hated each other, we're supposed to hate each other, and this child just got in the way of that!"

"Don't define yourself by who you should be, or how you should act, or you'll never be truly happy," she said softly. "If you love her and don't tell her, you'll regret it later, and that's the worst kind of regret there is."

There it was again.

That word, that word he couldn't even think.

Love and Granger, in the same sentence.

Did he love her?

Well, that was the million galleon question, wasn't it?

* * *

Now that she was approaching her ninth month, they were finally starting to do baby things. Last week they—well, she—bought a crib, and today they'd gotten some clothes and toys, which he was currently ranting about as she brought their packages into her room, where the crib stood in the far corner.

"I mean, what's the point in buying baby clothes when they grow so fast? And toys! Just give them something they can't choke on, and they won't even know the difference."

She rolled her eyes, only half listening. She hadn't been feeling great lately, and hoped she wasn't coming down with anything that would harm the baby. "Just because you can't afford—"

Suddenly she gasped, clutching at the crib with one hand, her other pressed on her stomach. Dimly aware of Malfoy hovering over her, she took several deep breaths before she managed, "I'm fine, it was just a—"

But, almost as soon as the pain went away, it was back again a minute later, and she couldn't hide her cry as its peak was more intense than the last. She slid down to the floor and rested her head against the crib, her eyes squeezed shut.

"Granger, what's wrong?" Malfoy pressed anxiously, squatting so that he was level with her face.

"Contractions," she choked out as she was hit with another, "I'm having contractions."

"They're really close together," Malfoy murmured, easing her against him, thoughtfully wiping away the sweat that had broken out on her forehead. "Are you sure you're not—going into labor?"

"I can't be!" Hermione cried, panicked and suddenly afraid. "I have another four weeks to—_uhhhhnnnngggg_!"

"All right, that's it," Malfoy declared as he got to his feet, gently pulling her up with him. "We're going to the hospital."

Too exhausted to fight him, she leaned into him wearily and he wrapped his arms around her for support. "Okay," she said, voice small, "let's go."

* * *

She _was_ going into labor.

She hadn't wanted him in the room with her—which he understood, since he wouldn't willingly want someone to see him that vulnerable—and now he was pacing outside of it. Occasionally he would stop to sit on the bench, but he had too much energy to sit for long.

At least they'd given her an epidural so her screams weren't as loud, but he didn't think he'd ever be able to forget that sound…it reminded him too much of the way she'd screamed when his crazy aunt had Crucio'd her. That sound had stayed with him a long time too, and now the two were blending together…

Shuddering, he wrapped his arms around himself and sat down again, resting his head on his knees.

_Pull yourself together. She's having a baby, she's not being tortured._

But he remained like that for a while, until he'd lost all track of time, when finally a voice called his name.

"Mr. Malfoy?"

Slowly lifting his head, he blinked bleary eyes at the doctor who was standing over him, struggled to bring himself back to the present. When he did, the first thing he noticed was that his expression was almost anguished. Instantly alert, he quickly got to his feet. "What's wrong?" he demanded, the worry making him appear almost rude, but he didn't even care about that. "Is she all right?"

"Your girlfriend's fine," the doctor assured quickly, but his expression didn't change. "But your baby…your baby didn't make it."

His mind completely shut down. Only partly aware of what he was doing, he sat again, suddenly needing to steady himself. "I'm sorry?"

"There were complications…in the birth," the doctor explained, voice sad, and even though Draco could see his lips moving, he was having a hard time focusing on the words. "Even though it is very rare, the umbilical cord prolapsed, meaning that because the baby put pressure on the cord as it passed through the cervix and the vagina as she was being delivered, it cut off blood flow and decreased her oxygen supply…it all happened so fast that by the time we saw what was wrong, it was too late to attempt a C-section…"

Draco wasn't sure that he understood any of that, really.

Or maybe he did, and it just wasn't sinking in.

Yeah…that was probably it.

He knew he should say something, but his mouth had gone dry, and he was having a hard time remembering enough of the English language to respond with something even remotely logical.

The doctor was still speaking, though. "The baby's feet were first and the labor was preterm, but we did everything we could to save her…and words cannot express how sorry I am that it wasn't enough. Your girlfriend wanted to say goodbye, and you're more than welcome to do the same if you want to."

_Don't be a coward now…_

All he could manage was a hollow, "Okay," and then he numbly got up and went into the delivery room. The room was empty except for Granger, and he realized then that the nurses must've left with the doctor and he'd just been too out of it to notice.

He just stood there, feeling awkward, almost as though he were intruding.

He didn't even really understand why he was feeling this way.

Shouldn't he be feeling relieved? He had just been given an easy out in a situation that had trapped him and had angered him, but he didn't feel any of those things now.

When he looked at her holding their dead baby, he just felt…empty.

"Malfoy," she said then, her voice full of unshed tears, "I think…you should go."

Of all the things he'd been expecting her to say, that hadn't even made the bottom of the list. Maybe he'd heard her wrong. "What?"

Quietly, she said, "I know that you don't want to be with me forever, that you hadn't really been thinking about that in the beginning…I mean, neither had I, really…but now…there's no need for you to stay. At all. And I—just don't think I can bear to look at you right now."

She might as well have slapped him.

He could've fought her, could've told her that he was staying anyway and she'd just have to deal with that, that there was nothing she could say that would change his mind. But he didn't have the energy for confrontation right now, and he didn't want to hurt her any more than she already was.

He opened his mouth, about to say something, but when the words didn't come right away he realized he had nothing to tell her that wouldn't end up sounding ridiculous, so he just left.

* * *

She was being punished.

That must be what this was all about.

It was harder than she thought to go back home and see the empty crib, empty as she felt, and the tiny clothes and toys, a painful reminder of what she'd lost. It didn't matter any more that Cassiopeia had been Malfoy's child as well as her own…she still felt pain, still grieved.

She did feel guilty that she'd pushed him away, but it had been the right thing to do, hadn't it? Maybe she'd been too harsh, but she hadn't been lying when she'd said it had been hard to look at him.

Even thinking about him was hard.

What made it even worse was that, quite against her will, she had started to fall for him, something that had never been supposed to happen. But somewhere along the way, she'd learned about the man behind the façade, and she'd discovered that there was more to him than she'd ever imagined. She'd completely misjudged him, and that had bothered her since her intuition about people was usually pretty accurate.

But there was nothing for it now.

There was no way he could possibly feel anything like that for her, and she didn't think she could cope with rejection on top of this grief, grief that had completely consumed her.

She'd quit her job at the library, unable to face questions about the birth from workers who knew her, and she spent as much of her time inside as possible, venturing out only when she needed to buy food, and sometimes not even then.

Sometimes she would even go entire days without eating, and she wouldn't even be hungry when she went to bed.

Sometimes she couldn't even make it out of bed at all.

What hurt the most was that was that she'd gone through so much, and now she had nothing. Even though she'd made some sort of peace with Ron, they'd both agreed that it would be hard for things to be as they were, but she missed him and Harry more than ever now. She'd finally been able to tell her parents about the stillbirth, but their support, sympathy, and love had hurt too because she'd felt as though she hadn't deserved it, and even though they'd be there for her when she needed them, she wasn't ready to face them yet.

So now she was alone, and she knew she still had a lot to live for, that she could still do the big things that she'd always dreamed of, but what was the point when she felt so empty?

* * *

The longer he spent away from her, the more he was certain that his feelings for her were genuine. His mother's words came back to him often, and he knew he wasn't being true to himself by hiding from what he really felt. He'd basically spent the majority of his life trying to be someone he thought he should be, but that hadn't brought him any happiness. In fact, he wasn't sure he'd really ever been truly happy in his entire life, except maybe when he was too young to know any better, and he was tired of anger, resentment, and numbness.

Being with her had made him realize that there was more to life, that there was more to feel, and he didn't think he'd ever be able to heal properly from all this unless he shared his feelings with her. Even if she rejected him, he was pretty sure he would be able to handle it eventually.

At least she would know.

His mind made up, he headed to her house before he lost his nerve and rang her doorbell, wishing he weren't so nervous. He was just beginning to think that she wasn't home when the door opened, but she didn't say anything, just stared at him.

There was nothing for it.

He would just get to the point immediately, no stalling.

Waiting a second more to gather his thoughts, he took a deep breath and finally said, "You probably don't even feel the same way, but I've never really been honest with you, and that's the least that I owe you now. But I came to say that I think I…might like you. A lot."

Her eyes widened, and forcing himself to continue, he went on, "I know that I shouldn't, that it doesn't make sense…but after…I realized that was why I'd been staying with you, that it wasn't because I was using you. I haven't even been able to grieve properly, everything is still so numb…nothing seems real without you."

She was still staring at him, and when her silence lingered, he wished that he hadn't said anything, that he hadn't even come by at all, and he was just about to leave when she reached out suddenly to grab his arm.

"I'm sorry," she whispered brokenly, letting go of him when he stayed where he was. "I've been so selfish, I hadn't even really been thinking of your pain at all…I guess—I pushed you away because I thought that's what you wanted, that you just wouldn't care…"

He sighed, dropping his eyes to the floor. "That's what I thought too. It would've been easier that way. But I don't even know what to think anymore…"

"Do you like me?" she asked suddenly, her hand gently touching his cheek.

If he didn't tell her now, he wasn't sure he'd ever be able to. Bringing his eyes up to meet her own, he admitted softly, "I think I've fallen in love with you."

Her eyes were still wide, but she was almost smiling now. "You think?"

"Well," he began thoughtfully, emboldened by the absence of disgust on her face, "there is one thing that we haven't done properly yet which would probably help me to know for sure…"

He wrapped his arms around her, and when she didn't protest he pulled her closer, only waiting briefly before he leaned down and kissed her. Surprising even himself with its intensity, he knew now without question that this where he wanted to be, with her.

When he finally left her lips, her arms were around his neck, his hands in her hair, and they were both breathless. "I've fallen in love with you too," she said thickly, "but I was afraid to acknowledge it because I was so convinced you'd never feel the same. And then, after our baby…died…I thought it would be easier for me to cope if I drove you away, but it wasn't…and I couldn't help but feel as though I were being punished for hurting everyone I ever cared about."

"None of that," he said softly as he gently brushed away the tears that had welled in her eyes, "no one's being punished. If anything, we have the opportunity to do things the right way, and I'd like a second chance. You deserve better than what I gave you."

She smiled through her tears. "You do, too."

They had a long road of recovery ahead, but now, finally, there was real hope for them. They would heal, together, and they'd have the chance to do things the way they should have been.

Hate had brought them close…but love would bring them closer.

* * *

**FIN**


End file.
